Purge
by fandomhive
Summary: Ivan Braginski, a young Soviet Officer, once saved the life of a boy that he never thought he'd see again. Little did he know that he'd cross paths with Wang Yao once more; under much different and darker circumstances. RoChu Fanfiction.


_**Purge**_

_Ivan Braginski, a young Soviet Officer, once saved the life of a boy that he never thought he'd see again. Little did he know that he'd cross paths with Wang Yao once more; under much different and darker circumstances. RoChu Fanfiction._

_**Rating:**__ T.  
Chapters following this one will be M due to the depiction of strong language, sex and violence._

_The story began in the city of Moscow._  
A dedicated young man by the name of Ivan Braginski was plucked from the masses and given the opportunity to work under the USSR. It was great Worker's Revolution, the coming of a new Russia and the promise of a new, better life.

The Red Terror was a nothing more than a simple hunt. And what a ruthless hunt it was; yanking those who claimed to be innocent, from their beds at night or their work at day and taking them away without words or trial. The only evidence was mere suspicions drawn from those who had experienced equal fear, equal distrust.

The masses were wordless in more than one sense.  
Most of them could not speak Russian, for they were not natives; the language barrier was what gave the Cheka the advantage to wipe out those feared to be against the regime.  
The goal was to leave only the believers, the ones who truly strove for the greatness and the revolution of Russia. Those who were willing to sacrifice blood, sweat and bones for what was assured to be true freedom. There was no mercy for those who held back. Be it religion, views or morals - if it did not abide with regime, it was worthy of the cost of life.

Only one life was worth sparing.

Ivan could remember him. Trembling in the blankets, his body lean and fragile and free of blemishes like a shard of clear glass nestled beneath the thin sheets. His hair, dark as coal and spread out among the single pillow like a curtain shielded his face, shielded his tightly closed eyes. He was breathing heavily, his frame unmoving. But he was awake.

"Stand."  
Ivan's cold and commanding voice broke the air that had fallen silent just minutes before when the shuffling and hushed whispers of Officers and the cries of girl and her family faded into the darkness of the night. The boy froze up, ceasing all movements completely. And then, slowly and deliberately, he curled to his side and offered his face for the Russian to see. He did not stand up as he was instructed to do so. Briefly, the suspicion that perhaps this boy could speak his tongue passed his mind – Ivan dismissed such an idea. This little doll was a foreigner, and an exotic one at that.

"Why should I stand, Sir?"  
The words were softly spoken, barely an octave above a whisper. Ivan's breathing faltered, his gaze twitched as he strained to catch meaning from the doll's response. The boy dared disobey him..._was he a fool? _Ivan waited many seconds before he chose his words once more.

"Stand." He repeated just as boldly as before, but his tone was laced with worry. Ivan was plagued with inexperience; to give orders and look upon the submission was the only thing he knew. And he did it well, because never before had he faced such a situation. To be met with disobedience from nothing but a simple, foreign _child_ was not something that Ivan had ever encountered before.

The boy's brow creased, his mouth parted as though he was about to speak but chose wisely and closed his thin lips once more. Taking a deep breath, he slid from the sheets and stood to his feet. His slender legs overlapped one another as he slipped from the bed. Briefly, his eyes darted about the dimly lit room and with no thought for himself and the officer standing before him; he expressed only concern for the empty bed beside himself.

"Where is my sister?"  
Ivan did not respond; the gun felt ten times heavier in his pocket.  
The little doll persisted, his face screwing up as if to ask _why, _although he knew the answer. "Where have you taken my sister? Have you taken her away?"  
The boy's brow wrinkled when he was met with nothing but an affirmative silence. His face fell. It was as though he'd been expecting this for a long time.

"Who are you, Sir? Are you going to take me away too? Can you take me to my sister?"  
Ivan was not prepared for the child-like curiosity which was so naturally spun into the softly spoken words of the young boy. Exotic and credulous, jointed with a wise nature that was clear to the eye but not quite ready to be shown at such a young age.

Ivan did not want to break the little doll. He did not want to introduce him to real pain – something beyond a few missed meals or a twist of the wrist from an Officer who did not understand his words and forced his ideals upon others. He did not wish to show him where his beloved sister had been taken, nor the blood stained walls that gave credence to his missing parents, taken just hours earlier when the young babe was likely settling into slumber. They had committed the crime, not he. They were in possession of unlawful literature, not he. Ivan doubted the boy could even read, let alone understand the true meaning behind the hopeless words, the useless ideals of those who would _never _break down the perfectly composed structure of the Russian Soviet rule and only attempted to hold it back for longer.

"Do you have a name?"  
The young boy dipped his head down, studying his dirty feet as he spoke.  
"My name is Wang Yao, Sir. I am eleven years old."

Ten years younger. He was missing a decade of the knowledge that Ivan had acquired.  
"Do you have any relatives, Wang Yao?"  
The child paused. Slowly, he shook his head and tilted it forward to study the face of the Cheka Officer. Ivan could feel the distrust emanating him. He doubted that if this boy was as wise as he seemed, he would speak truth to the very officer who was guilty of removing his family.

"Are you afraid that we will wipe them out, too?"  
Yao nodded. And throughout it all, he attempted to hide his trembling as he was faced with Ivan. Ivan; a youthful member of the Secret Police who had been handed the right cards in life and was steadily rising in the ranks. Such a thing was not what he strove for, simply something that came effortlessly to him.

"Can you read, little doll?" Ivan crouched down to Yao's height, studying his blank face and watering eyes. Yao nodded, his hair falling over his shoulders. It caused him to shiver even more from the circumstances; the lack of warm clothing, the cold night outside and the trembling fear that Ivan reduced him to in his presence.  
"Did you read the books that your Mama and Papa have been bringing into the house recently?"  
Yao's eyes twitched with tears of shame, his head fell forward. "Yes, Sir."

"Leave here." Ivan ordered, pointing to the door.  
Yao did not respond. It was clearly a trick. He heard many stories of how the dirty Russians toyed with the psyche for the sheer joy of it. To watch their prey crack to pieces before their very eyes and beg for the forgiveness of a crime they never committed.

"No. Why should I leave? This is my house. You should leave." he spoke boldly, lips quickly pressing into a tight line once the words had left his mouth. He stood taller; a useless but firm attempt to frighten the Cheka Officer away. This seemed to amuse Ivan, who allowed the most innocent of smiles to spread across his face. A wolf in sheep's skin; he laughed gently, still looking down upon Yao as though he was an entertainer, Lenin's finest.

"I like it when you speak with authority. Don't let them beat it out of you." Ivan spoke, kneeling down before the boy and taking his chin. He studied him with wide eyes; the violet iris painted carefully with no clear emotion. "I will not ask you again to leave. I demand you to do so, Wang Yao. For if you do not leave, I shall kill you too."

It was not a threat but a promise; and Yao felt it. He stiffened, his fear becoming slowly more noticeable. His body shook; Ivan could feel it through his own palm.  
"I don't want to die." he spoke softly, the Russian words laced with a Chinese tongue and the very essence of fear that drove his breathing to quicken and his heart to near-stop. Ivan nodded in understanding, and although his eyes were dark there was _something there,_ something that made his heart beat faster and his breath sharpen. He placed a single kiss onto Yao's cheek; admiring the beauty and the strength of the child. Yao looked away.

He let go of the little doll's porcelain chin, giving him access to the beaten-down door. Yao seized his opportunity, racing barefoot from the vast and empty home without a moment to glance at the anti-Communist literature piled upon the floor that the Cheka had obviously discovered. But he did not think to question who betrayed his family, nor did he spare a thought for where they were. Survival was at the front of his brain - and if the insane Russian went back on his word and changed his mind, Yao wanted to assure that it would be far too late. Out onto the streets he rushed, into the snow. It was so cold that it burned his feet. His eyes skimmed the dark and barren road. It was void of people, void of light. They called it the Red Terror, but Yao had never seen it with his own eyes.

But he could never escape it, either.

The years passed and Ivan forgot about the little boy. He had no reason to remember him; the doll did not cross paths with him ever again and since then the Russian had rose much farther in the ranks, leaving his past life behind. He was earning quite the sum of money and, thanks to his connections with those much higher in the system, now had the title of Colonel General. He had servants to replace the family he lost, and a mansion to help him to forget the cruel conditions he spent his childhood living in. But slowly, the bloodshed was taking its toll.

His disinterest in life was brought to a questionable halt from the interesting words of a servant, Eduard. He wasn't listening to the man properly, _no, leaders did not listen to those beneath him, _but he heard the words clearly. A new young servant, fresh from the streets, willing to work for no pay but a roof above his head and something to fill his system.

"Bring him in." Ivan demanded, pointing to the vast door that bode entrance to his Office. Eduard nodded, muttering something under his breath before he turned the old handle and presented the hallway to his master.

There, against faded red wallpaper, Wang Yao stood. He was held in place by Raivis and Toris, but it was clear that he had no intentions of leaving. His lips were tight, his eyes narrowed. He stood firm, dressed in short, tattered robes of an indistinguishable colour, his dark hair spilling out over his shoulders and onto his waist. He was in poor condition; his skin was bruised and paler than it should have been, his body was thin. His odd beauty piqued Ivan's interest to no end.

He stood to his feet, striding up to his newest servant and kneeling before him with a feeling of wonder; somehow, the action felt familiar, but he couldn't place a reason to how or why. He was immediately ensnared by Yao's exotic visage, his blank and yet beautiful face giving nothing away. It was exhilarating to know just how much pain he was so carefully locking up inside and not displaying for the world to see out of fragile pride.

Ivan looked up at his trio of servants, giving them a very deliberate stare which signaled that orders would follow.  
"Bring the little doll some clothes. Something better than these rags. Something...bring him some silk to wear."  
Toris' mouth immediately opened at such words, confusion written clearly across his face. Never once had he been treated so lavishly; and yet this _plain little boy _was being gifted within a single minute. It was unfair. It was out of order. He'd spent years pleasing the Russian, both pleasuring him and waiting upon him until his body numbed and his mind ached, all in the hopes that he too would be viewed as a thing of beauty, to be prized. He knew that both Eduard and Raivis felt the same.

Raivis' young, pink lips opened to speak, not choosing his words and acting upon the impulse of his own thoughts. He was usually punished for such a thing; but it didn't matter to him. He got used to it after a while.  
"Do you really think that such a thing is necessary-"  
"Da. Are you going to question my orders, Raivis? I want the three of you to prepare a room for the doll. I want you to prepare it now."

The trio was given no opportunity to protest before their minds acted first, carrying themselves from the study.

Ivan gestured for Yao to sit; and the boy did so without thanking him for such a luxury. He placed himself in front of the fireplace, legs crossed and head tilted back whilst he bathed in the warmth as if it was created especially for him. Yao's lack of manners amused Ivan to no end; the Baltic boys would have earned punishment for such behaviour, but Yao's disposition was plain endearing.

"Now, tell me, do you have a name?"  
This time, the servant decided to reply. "Yes, aru. Of course I have a name. But I have not needed it in a long time, so I have merely forgotten it. You shall have to name me, for you are my owner, are you not?"

Ivan liked Yao's behavior _very much.  
_  
"Yes, you are. And you mustn't forget it, little doll. You know, you do so remind me very much of somebody from the past."  
Yao opened one eye, raising a brow in response. "Hm?" he hummed, wriggling his toes in front of the heat.  
"Yes. But he too, was unimportant. I cannot remember the circumstances of which I met him, but I remember that his name was Yao."  
"I see." Yao replied flatly. "...And a second name?"  
"I cannot remember."

"I see." Yao stood to his feet, fairly satisfied with his warmth. "I will...prepare dinner for you, aru."  
Ivan shook his head. "No, no. That is not your job. Your job," he continued. "Is to be beautiful, and to make the blood pound in my chest even when I wish it not to."

"There are other people in this world who'd do that for you, if you paid a sum, aru."  
"...And I do not care for them. You shall be my little doll, Yao. No cooking or cleaning for you."

Yao did not respond, and he felt no need to do so, either. He preferred silence. The silence in which nothing but the rise and fall of his own chest could be heard; the crackling of the fire in front of him and the Russian winds outside accompanying his own personal symphony. How strange it felt to be on the other end of the window and not braving the snow outside. He forgotten how it felt to have a home of his own; it was taken from him many years ago.

But he couldn't miss what he couldn't remember.

"Yao-Yao, what are you thinking about?"  
"Hm?" Yao's head tilted forward, his hair spilling further down his back and onto the floor as he leant across the rug. "I am thinking about nothing. I am enjoying the warmth and the shelter. I think that this is the first time in years that I have had such luxury. Why, aru?"

Ivan was pleased with the reply; it meant that he did not have to strain himself to comfort his little pet. Perhaps Yao was simply cold by nature...but he'd change that.  
"...I was simply wondering, do not worry yourself. It's nigh time for you to bathe; you look dirty and disheveled. Like you haven't washed in years. And yet, your hair has such a pretty shine. Might I ask how you achieved such natural health?"

Yao's face was somewhat sour. "Rainwater, aru. You said that I should bathe, and yet I do not know where to go to do such a thing. Unless you'd prefer I washed myself in the puddles that gathered outside. Make your decision quick, aru."

Ivan felt his cheeks heat up and his lips twist into a helpless smile. "Fifth floor, ninth room to your left. Toris, Eduard and Raivis will escort you when they have returned from their duties, da?"  
Yao nodded politely in response and on what was almost a clockwork mechanism, the three knocked timidly on the door. Ivan allowed himself to ponder whether the trio had been listening the whole time before he allowed them inside to take his little doll for a wash.

Soon, Yao was escorted from his Master's study by the servants, who didn't care to hold him up as he nimbly made his way down the corridors. Toris flashed a look to Eduard, who in turn directed it to Raivis. The three shared a sour feeling as they showed Yao to the bathroom; floor two room four.  
"This...is not where Master told me to wash, aru."  
"Oh?" Toris pretended to be disinterested as he spoke, but something sparked in his olive eyes that betrayed the curiosity that he felt.  
"Yes," Yao continued, rather matter-of-factly. "Fifth floor, ninth room to the left. This is not the fifth floor."

For a moment, the Lithuanian wished to wring Yao's neck and curse him for being so _rude,_ when he was blatantly undeserving of any special attention. He was dirt from the streets. Why did _he _get silk, a room of his own and the option to use the _private _bathroom which Master used himself?  
But Eduard cut in, saving him of any embarrassment.  
"Master is toying with you. That bathroom is reserved especially for himself and very honoured guests. He is trying to get you into trouble and upset you on your first day." he pointed out.  
Yao's stomach tightened, his eyes narrowed in distress. He knew that his situation was too good to be true.  
"Right, aru." he spoke sharply, pushing open the door to the servant's shared bathroom. It was far less expensive and beautiful as Ivan's own, but it was still the most luxurious room that Yao had ever been in. His bare feet padded carefully along the stone tiles, soaking in each inch of the splendid decor.

From behind, Toris sniffed. "Don't forget these." he spoke bitterly, throwing the silk clothing onto the floor and shutting the door behind him.  
As Yao bathed himself in exotic oils with sponges and soaps that he didn't even know how to properly use, he pondered the actions of his fellow servants. He sensed that there was no happiness in them; or no place for Yao in their lives. But the feeling was nothing to him, for he was no stranger to being unwanted. Stepping from the bath, fresher than he'd been in years, he fished for the plug in the now murky, brown water and clutched a towel to his body, shivering. The cold had begun to leak through the window and into the room, causing his teeth to chatter together. But he had to remind himself to be thankful - the cold would hopefully be his only discomfort in life from now on.

He glanced down at the floor; a bundle of red silk was waiting for him. Yao gingerly picked it up, giving it a long gaze and an apprehensive sniff, concluding at last that it must be very valuable. With some difficulty he slipped it on, the material a little bit too baggy for his body, and pulled up the ribbons to tighten it. His reflection caught the mirror; the item of silk that reached his knees and flowed past his bony wrists reminded him of his own traditional Chinese clothing: the garments which he had before his parents had been taken away and the house mysteriously burnt down. He fled his own town after the escape given from that insane Russian officer gave him a chance at life. Yao's jobs were various. They ranged from cleaning a home to selling his body, and fate was not kind enough to him. But that had all changed.

After briefly drying his hair, Yao left the bathroom and approached the facing room, where he could see Toris and Eduard speaking. Raivis was hunched between the two, curled up and resting with his eyes half closed and a thumb in his mouth like a child. The two were speaking in angry, hushed whispers that made him think immediately of a dispute between two parents or lovers. He inched closer to the door, pushing it open to hear more.

"...And what makes you think that Master won't just get bored of him, hm? He'll be back to himself in no time. I blame it on all of the work he's been doing."  
"Yes, yes. You're right. It must be the work. Master would never want to touch something like that. Perhaps he's simply amusing himself? That boy won't last five minutes. I pray that he makes an error, and soon. I can't bear to see the Master treating him so."

Yao stiffened; quickly stepping away from the door and feeling hurt overcome himself. He clutched his stomach, feeling helpless and betrayed before slinking down onto the floor and pressing his head to the wall. The door in front of him opened, revealing Eduard.

"Ah, Yao." he spoke brightly; but the tone was not friendly. "You should go to see the Master now and bring him some tea. I would make something to cook, too, because this is the hour that he eats."  
Yao chewed his lip nervously, not wanting to answer. After hearing such a conversation, how could he trust the words of an enemy? Surely he couldn't at all. But orders were orders...  
He did not respond to Eduard and simply turned on his feet, walking away in search of the kitchen. He decided that he didn't want help.

Yao had eventually found his way to the kitchen; preparing a simple but tasty-looking dish of chop suey. It was one of the few recipes which he could remember that actually had the right ingredients at hand. He served it on a sturdy tray with a cup of tea to follow, carrying it to Ivan's study where the man remained. Knocking nervously on the door, he waited with baited breath for Ivan's response.

"Come." called the Russian, his face quickly breaking into a smile when he saw that it was Yao, his new favourite, at the entrance. Such an expression quickly disappeared when he noticed the tray. Yao froze, feeling terror creep into his body at the unwanted response.  
"I brought...tea, aru." he spoke quietly, trying his best to keep his weak smile from wavering.

"I can see that." Ivan replied, his eyes flickering over the tray. It was not a dish that he had seen before, and the scent was overwhelmingly delicious, but he remained stiff as stone to keep his dominance.  
"And why did you do such a thing, little Yao? I did not allow you to do so. Who gave you the right to?"

"Edua-" Yao froze, carefully closing his mouth and shaking his head. He decided that it was best not to betray his new staff. Instead he shut his eyes and hoped that his punishment wouldn't be too painful.

"You are not to cook or clean, I told you that." Ivan continued, voice expressionless. "You are something to be looked at; and your hands will never remain soft if they are always working."

Yao opened one eye at that, still flinching in fear of an unexpected attack.  
"What do you mean, aru?" he asked timidly.  
Ivan shrugged off his words, sitting back in his chair. "You may feed me your dish now, little Yao. Come here." He extended one finger, gesturing towards the desk. Yao did not question matters. He approached the man with fear in his eyes, the tray still trembling in his hold.  
"Sit." Ivan pointed at the desk, and Yao felt his heart stop for a moment.  
"But that is a desk, aru!" he spoke loudly.

A smirk crossed the Russian's lips. "Da, it is. Well done for noticing, little doll. I want you to sit on the desk and feed me." he folded his arms, gaze never wavering. "Go on."  
Yao paused for a moment, allowing himself to collect his fear and compress it into his movements. He hopped nimbly onto the polished mahogany, crossing his legs and lifting the tray up. He took the spoon and gathered a good portion of meat, vegetables and rice before holding it to Ivan's lips. In doing so he had to lean closer, thus giving himself the opportunity to see his Master's face clearly.

He was more than shocked at what he saw.

No, shocked was not the word. Yao was _awed. _His genetics were that of the Gods, so different to his own. If any man other than Ivan possessed such alabaster skin Yao would have mistook it for illness, but Ivan's complexion was completely natural and suited him perfectly. It highlighted his pale colouring and each sculpted feature, right down to his ivory hair. His lashes were just as white, framing a pair of..._violet _eyes. They pierced into Yao's, watching his every move. And then his lips opened - they appeared noticeably soft - and, like a kitten, he very deliberately lapped away the food from the silver with his pink tongue.

Ivan swallowed appreciatively, his eyes lighting up. "This is very good, Yao!" he praised. "Tell me, what is this dish called?"  
"Chop suey, aru. My mother used to cook it for me."  
The Russian nodded, smiling broadly. "Then I shall tell the servants to cook it for me often. I am enjoying this very much. So much so, that I won't even punish you for your escapades in the kitchen without my permission." he eyed Yao, sensing the Chinese doll's fear. "Well done."

And so the feeding continued, Yao's heartbeat increasing each time Ivan gazed at him as he took the food into his mouth, letting out sounds and words of delight and licking his lips in appreciation. He even drank the tea - Ivan did not like tea.

The Baltics watched through a crack in the door.

_Author's Note._

As soon as the concept came to mind, I was eager to write a story like this. Forgive me for incorrect history; using the knowledge I already had, sources from the internet and my History books, I tried my best to make this as accurate as possible.

_I must also add; is unclear whether Yao can remember Ivan. I won't reveal that yet. However, if you have any questions about this story, feel free to ask! I am more than happy to explain._

_Lastly, if you have enjoyed this story, please review. Reviews are important to any writer; they help us to know and understand what readers appreciate about our writing and what can be improved! _

_Thank you for reading so far! I have a lot of ongoing stories right now (Disobedience, To the Moon and Back, Sunflower Syndrome, Fool Me Once - wow, that really is a lot for me - ) which means that my updates may be take time. And when I mean time, I mean one to two weeks per update. _

_Sp__asibo__, Xièxiè!  
спасибо, __谢谢_

_- Thank you!_


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